


Winter.

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Sex, put some fluff in that sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:49:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony offers Bruce a weekend retreat. How can he refuse?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Spades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spades/gifts).



“I bought a cabin today.” Bruce’s ears perk up, and he looks up from his tablet screen for the first time in about an hour.

“You what now? You don’t mean like, a modern glass architectural thing that happens to be located in a forest. You mean a cabin?”

“Yeah. A cabin, logs and shit, a kitchen smaller than my bathtub. The real deal, the works.” For you, Bruce hears, but he doesn’t point that out. “So. Weekend vacation because I’m fucking sick of this place. You in?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I mean, you could stay in this giant tower all by yourself. Without me. But that doesn’t sound nearly as fun as freezing to death in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.” Bruce can’t help but smile, and Tony’s already grinning back.

The private helicopter leaves about thirty minutes after Bruce agrees to it, and he watches the mountains and bodies of water pass under them. It’s cold, even in the belly of the helicopter. Honestly, it’s pretty hard to imagine Tony being exposed to the elements, even though Bruce knows he has been before. He doesn’t even shiver in his ski jacket, though, and that’s more than Bruce can say for himself. His breath is a fog before him, and he’s rubbing his hands together to keep his fingers from going numb.

It’s been a while since he’s been in the cold. The muggy India heat is still fresh in his brain and the pores of his skin. When they land, the powdery snow gives way and slides down the mountain.  Bruce watches after it for a long time, its winding path down towards the forest, the rivulets left behind. Tony has to tap his shoulder and nod toward the cabin to snap him out of it. It’s just so. Truthful, crisp, the plains of snow and the harsh, black lines of the trees, and Bruce wants to look just a bit longer. But his nose feels like it’s about to fall off and Tony is being impatient, and so he follows him inside.

Bruce doesn’t even make it through the door before Tony’s lips latch onto his, and the strange hot-and-cold combination of their frosty lips and warm, wet tongues is something Bruce didn’t even know he would crave. Between them there are probably ten layers of clothes so insulating Bruce can feel sweat on the back of his neck, and he’s grateful for Tony shucking them out of their heavy ski jackets so he’s not sweltering, and so he can pull Tony close against his sweater and feel the heat of Tony’s body like he needs and wants.

When they finally pull away from each other, both of them are panting, the spires of their white breaths mixing together in the too-chill air. “We should start a fire,” Bruce says, because he actually doesn’t want to freeze to death. Also, he wants to do other things besides just making out like teenagers, even though he has to remind himself of that. Bruce takes a seat on the floor and starts unlacing his boots, purposefully ignoring the way Tony is licking his lips red and raw above him. His fingers are still numb and stiff and tingly, so pulling out knots is a bit of a challenge.

“JARVIS. Fire.” The fireplace is instantly roaring and crackling, and Bruce shakes his head. “What?”

“Nothing. Just that you couldn’t stay away from the easy way out if you wanted to.” Tony sits beside him in a huff and takes off his boots much quicker than Bruce could manage. Engineer’s hands, strong and precise even when cold. Bruce might be staring at them.

More layers come off. Bruce didn’t know Tony owned thermal underwear, and it’s… cute. He looks like a kid from the seventies on Christmas morning in his red long johns. Bruce has scooted up to the fire, and he hangs his wet socks up on the grill. He has on his sweatpants and no shirt, just like he’s back in B.C. in his own cabin. Only, Tony wraps his arms around his chest and a blanket around them both, and it’s much more peaceful than it was before. He feels lips pressing and beard scratching against his shoulder.

“You’re being quiet.” It’s funny; the absence of Tony’s voice is more palpable than the absence of his body would be. Bruce knows Tony is thinking. The comment is acting to invite himself in.

“I’m wondering what the fuck you do in a cabin for an entire weekend.” Bruce laughs, and rubs Tony’s legs around his waist. Tony isn’t always the best at thinking things through. “Isn’t always” is also the understatement of the century.

“Play board games, drink beer. Exchange hunting conquests that are probably only half-true.” All speculation on Bruce’s part, and he loves the sound of Tony’s laughter against his ear.

“Wellll, this one time—you’re gonna think this is absolutely crazy—I nuked an entire alien army. Right out of goddamn space.” Bruce laughs, and he feels Tony’s lips split in a grin. He turns around and kisses him, and Tony kisses back, and Bruce falls on his back with his arms wrapped around Tony’s waist. Tony drapes over his stomach and the blanket rapidly slips down his back as he lifts up to kiss him harder. Bruce catches it and pulls it up, tucks it under his own body so they’re wrapped in a sort of cocoon with Tony all sprawled out on top of him. It’s warm and close and like home, and Bruce could kiss him like this forever, lazy and safe. The fire’s heat makes the side of Bruce’s face sweat, and Tony pulls back grinning. “All that other stuff sounds boring. I won’t lie; I had every intention of taking you here to fuck.”

“Should I be surprised? Ow!” Bruce exclaims after Tony pinches his hip. He rubs the pinched place (probably red) and tries really hard not to grin, not to feel like they’ve come to some sort of full circle. He pulls Tony closer and kisses the top of his head. And then the rest of his face, and his jaw, and runs his tongue down his pulse to his collarbone. Tony squeezes his arm like a halt, and Bruce looks up. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t actually think you could get ahead of yourself, Bruce. And it’s totally hot; do it again.” Bruce grins, and his lips and teeth are back on his skin. Tony sighs contently above him, and Bruce sinks his teeth in hard enough to pull a gasp out of him. He loves the way Tony reacts to him, all bright eyes and hisses through his teeth and trying not to show how much he wants it. Bruce knows when Tony is trying to be transparent, though, and with his low lilt and the way his eyes roll back from just lips and teeth on his throat Bruce knows this is definitely one of those times.

“Can’t believe you’re chastising me. You love it.” He pulls Tony’s hair just enough for his lips to part.

“Better than Yahtzee. Board games, seriously?” Bruce responds with a sharp snap of his hips, and Tony is a mess above him all over again. Bruce’s big fingers fumble hopelessly with Tony’s tiny long underwear buttons before yanking it off his shoulders and tugging it down to his hips. The fabric makes a loud ripping sound. Bruce bites his lip apologetically. “Don’t worry. I have plenty more.” They both smile, and Tony’s lips are on his again so smoothly and perfectly like nothing interrupted them.

He can’t decide if he wants more than this. He knows Tony does, he’s not stupid. But this is just enough, in its way; Tony’s warm arc reactor and muscled stomach against him, his mouth opening wider, his tongue on the seam of his lips asking for more. It’s enough that Tony can ask without thinking, that Bruce can give back without having to worry. Tony has enough sense about these things to know when and when not to shove his tongue down Bruce’s throat, and right now it’s good; their tongues slide together in languid, lazy circles. Bruce makes similar circles with his thumbs into the knots on Tony’s back, earning Tony’s hums against his mouth.

Bruce groans when Tony’s hips roll up and he feels the hard line of his cock against his thigh. He slides his sweatpants down, and gets Tony’s long johns to his knees. It’s relief more than need. Bruce sighs with pleasure as more skin rubs skin, and Tony just holds onto his shoulders and lets him have his way. He doesn’t do more than touch all of Tony with the same slow pressure, not carnal even when he palms his cock and lets his fingers slide down the cleft of his ass. Tony looks at him with his wide, curious eyes, and Bruce can’t imagine anything sexier. He doesn’t force the noises that fall from his mouth, either; soft groans and light pants that Bruce soaks up as naturally as the heat emanating from his body.

“Bruce…” He’s not hissing through his teeth with impatience, or rolling up for more. Just his name, and Bruce dusts red at the sound of it. He’s never heard it so soft from Tony, as anything less than a command or a mid-coital exaltation before. He sifts his fingers through Tony’s hair and pulls back to look at him.

“Is this alright?” He’s still being quiet, but the big grin on his face was at least some positive affirmation.

“Yeah. God, Bruce, it’s more than alright, it’s—“

He never expected Tony to get tongue tied. He stops, lets Tony think as he pauses the grind of his hips.

“Perfect.” The p is wet on his red lips, and Bruce pulls him into a kiss without hesitating. Watching Tony admit things to himself is its own sort of strangely titillating. Bruce rubs his hands up his back and kisses the tops of his shoulders, the sharp angles of Tony’s jaw—all his. Just for now, but that’s enough. He wraps a hand around their cocks and Tony groans into the crook of his neck. “Yes...” The whole fucking universe could be yes, and Bruce would have to agree.

Tony’s hands curl into Bruce’s hair and Bruce starts to stroke properly, a spark jolting deep in his belly. He groans, and Tony hushes him with a wet, lingering kiss. His other hand comes up to cup his face, and Tony turns to suck on his fingers as he flicks his half-lidded eyes to Bruce’s face. “Minx,” Bruce manages to huff out, and Tony only sucks harder in response. He kisses the tops of Bruce’s fingers when he lets them slide out of his mouth, and Bruce loves the way his nerve endings tingle under his lips. He slips his hand down and back, rubbing Tony’s hole before slipping a finger inside him. Tony’s clutch in his hair gets tighter and he gasps, urging Bruce on. So fucking gorgeous, especially with his blown-out eyes lit up by gentle firelight, the angles of his face accentuated with flickers of red and orange. Their eyes meet for a second, and Bruce smiles against his lips when they kiss again.

Bruce pulls out, away, and Tony whines against his shoulder. He sits up and wraps Tony’s legs around his waist, and Tony lets him manipulate him however he wants. Tony is more malleable than the iron he’d like to think of himself as. He stands them both up slowly, and sets Tony on his back down on the bed like he’s made of glass. Tony is reaching up, and Bruce brings himself down to kiss him, over and over, in every place he knows will make Tony sigh in his ear. Bruce gets on his knees, glad there’s a sheepskin rug near the bed because he’s not eighteen anymore and the cold is wrecking his joints, and watches Tony’s eyes dance as he kisses and nips the inside of his thighs.

His tongue presses against and into Tony’s hole, fighting the tight ring of muscle, and he takes a certain pride in the way Tony lurches up and digs his nails into his scalp. There’s no way he realizes how many vulnerable pants and moans and gasps are falling from his mouth, or he would correct himself, and Bruce loves that he gets to hear him like this. His eyes stay intent on Tony’s face, and as his eyebrows knit harder Bruce’s tongue fights harder to fuck him open with his mouth. Once his legs start to shake Bruce pulls himself back to standing, and Tony bucks his hips down against the bed.

Bruce pulls his cheeks apart, presses his chest against Tony’s knees until they’re pinned to his shoulders. He leans down and kisses him as he slides into him, and they sigh into each other’s mouths. When he sits back up on his hands to look, Tony has the slightest smile on his lips. He looks so relaxed and his lip sticks to his teeth when he bites it and Bruce can’t stop staring. He wants to say something, how good he feels, how gorgeous he is with just the slightest sheen of sweat catching the contrasting lights of his arc reactor and the fire, but all he can do is pant and moan because this really is, he’s just so perfect, and they both know words are redundant.

When they come it’s no grand affair, just Tony arching up and his breath catching, and Bruce pushing a bit sharper as he pulses inside him. He slides out and strokes Tony off through the rest of his, watching him take in so much air his ribs push out before he lets it all go in a long gush. He flops back on the bed, a loose sack of contentment, and Bruce smiles and kisses his knee. Tony’s fingers splay out on his cheek, and he kisses those, too. He steps away, and Tony paws up from the bed without actually moving to come after him. Bruce rolls his eyes, gives him another kiss on the ankle, and steps over to the kitchen that might really be smaller than Tony’s bathtub.

He wets a washcloth, and the water is mountain stream cold. He rings it out and brings it back to the bed, lightly touching Tony’s skin with it.

“Cold,” is his only word of discontent, and he shivers a little bit. He hasn’t actually moved, though. Bruce sees this as a sign to continue, and wherever the rag cleans Bruce touches his hand to warm him back up. Tony purrs with contentment, which makes Bruce smile. He lifts his legs up to clean his backside and Tony arches up and clutches his chest.

“Sensitive?” Tony nods, and Bruce kisses the still-hot backs of his thighs. He cleans himself off briefly and goes back over to the sink to rinse out the rag, hanging it up next to his socks on his way back to the bed. He picks up the blanket, too, and throws it over Tony before he slides into bed with him. They kiss again, and Bruce threads his fingers through Tony’s hair and he watches his eyes close and open trying to fight sleep. “We’ll do something later. You can sleep.” Tony nods into his chest, and Bruce suppresses a laugh as he forcefully snuggles into his body.


End file.
